Page 55 of The Twisted Throne

“No!” she heard James shout. “Don’t kill him!”

But she’d already heaved the assassin over the wall, his screams splitting the night air. Once. Twice. Three times. And then there was silence.

Catching her balance against the parapet, she turned to findJames with his arms outstretched toward her, a still figure behind him on the ground.

The guards exploded onto the scene, torchlight illuminating the blood splattered against the white stone. It was a mess of voices, made worse by the incessant alarm bells. Then James’s hands were gripping her sides, his face inches from hers, breath hot and rapid. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she answered. “He spoke to me, but his accent was unfamiliar—”

“She’s injured!” the captain she’d spoken to earlier blurted out. “The princess. Her back!”

James cursed and rotated her in his grip as easily as if Ahnna were a doll, a stream of profanity rolling from his lips. “Get a bloody doctor!” he shouted at the captain. “Go!”

Then James lifted her into his arms.

For a heartbeat, Ahnna was too stunned to speak, because no one had picked her up, much less carried her, in her adult life, and now James had done it twice. “Put me down!”

He ignored her.

“James, there is nothing wrong with my legs! It’s just a scratch!”

“The back of your shirt is soaked in blood,” he growled, holding her steady as he descended the stairs. “And if you don’t quit squirming, I’m going to drop you.”

Given the strength of his grip, it would take more than squirming to cause him to drop her, but Ahnna still ceased trying to extricate herself. “This is ridiculous.”

“The doctor will meet you in her rooms, sir,” someone said from below. “And we’ve begun a search for intruders. The entire palace has been locked down.”

“Small mercy,” she muttered. “Fewer people to witness you carrying me about like an overgrown child.”

“No one with eyes is going to mistake you for a child,” he retorted, and Ahnna became profoundly aware of the hard chest she was pressed against, his arms beneath her knees and behind her lower back, her cheek resting against his shoulder. If her weight was a burden, James didn’t show it as he entered the palace, walking with long strides down the hallways, which, despite thelockdown,were full of gaping nobility, every last one of them speculating in dramatic fashion. By the time they reached her rooms, Ahnna was confident that the gossip had escalated to the point that she was on the verge of death, having been attacked by a dozen assassins.

“Where is she?” Taryn’s shout echoed out of Ahnna’s room. “You will let me go to my cousin, or I will gut you like a pig!”

James entered her room, and Ahnna watched her cousin’s face pale at the sight of her, Jor bodily shoving a guard out of the way as he attempted to reach her. Bronwyn had somehow managed to get around all the guards, her blue eyes wide as she asked, “How bad is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Ahnna growled, then kicked her legs to try to get James to let go of them, but he only tightened his grip until he was able to carefully lower her onto the bed. Taryn was on her in an instant, cutting away Ahnna’s shirt.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” her cousin said, making a face. “It’s just a little cut. A few stitches and you’ll be fine. You certainly didn’t need to be carried.”

“I know.” Ahnna didn’t bother trying to keep the sourness from her voice. “Blame James.”

No sooner had the words passed her lips than a wave of dizziness washed over her. Wincing, she tried to focus on the conversation the doctor was having with James and Bronwyn, but the sound of her pulse was drowning them out. Bronwyn’s face wasblanched, James’s jaw tight, and as the doctor extracted several glass vials from a case, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

Bronwyn knelt next to the bed. “James says Amaridian assassins poison their blades, most commonly with wraithroot. The doctor can test the wound for traces and then treat you, but you must stay calm.”

She’d heard the name before. An expensive poison and not one used by the Harendellians. “Antidote?”

“Of a fashion.” Bronwyn smoothed Ahnna’s hair back, peeling sweat-soaked strands off her forehead. “If it is indeed wraithroot, it is absolutely critical that you keep your heart beating as slowly as possible, that’s why James carried you. If it starts to race, the poison will drive your heart to beat faster and faster until—”

“It stops,” Ahnna whispered, remembering her poison lore.

Bronwyn hummed an affirmative. “It’s most effective if the victim is exerting themselves, but also if they panic. So just breathe.”

The grim-faced doctor pressed a piece of gauze to the wound, then poured a substance from one of the vials onto the blood-soaked cotton. It fizzed, and he grimaced. “Wraithroot, there is no doubt. We will sedate you to keep you calm, Your Highness. If you would drink this—”

“No!” Ahnna jerked away from the proffered vial. “No sedation!”

“It will not harm you,” the doctor said in a voice that was probably intended to be soothing but was instead entirely condescending. “It only puts you to sleep until the poison passes from your system.”

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